The Violet Hour
by Blackwingedangel37
Summary: On a morning where everything seems to be going wrong, Arthur find himself in desperate need of a babysitter. Enter Eames. AU
1. Chapter One

**This is an idea that has been hovering in my mind for quite some time and I have finally decided to bring it to life. I hope you enjoy it!**

**Word Count: 3,677**

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><p>Arthur was awoken by a gentle prodding against his forehead. He rolled over on instinct in an effort to escape from it. He still wasn't fully conscious yet, which meant that, with any luck, he might be able to drift back off for at least another hour.<p>

Violet had come knocking on his door last night, a teary eyed mess from a nightmare. He had let her burrow into his arms, running his hands in circles across her back to soothe the tension out of her small frame. It had been enough to ease away her whimpers, but actual sleep hadn't come until after she had been given a glass of warm milk with cinnamon and honey mixed in. And that had been somewhere around three in the morning.

His brow forehead downward as the pokes returned, harder this time. He lifted a hand in an attempt to brush it away. "Not quite yet, Vi," He muttered.

"But, Dad, today is the big day," came the response.

Arthur frowned as he tried to remember what she was referring to. He did his best to force the grogginess from his mind so that he could flip through his inner schedule. There had been a lull in projects as of late, which he had been grateful for given the fact that there was an enormous one coming up with…

His eyes snapped open, all traces of sleepiness gone, as he remembered what today was. The architecture firm at which he worked had managed to land Mamoru Saito, head of Proclus Global, as a highly lucrative client. The man wanted them to design a new company building for them and there was a meeting this morning to go over the initial blueprints. A meeting that, based on a quick glance at the clock, he was dangerously close to being late for.

He scrambled out of bed while his daughter wiggled her way out after him. He sent her off to her own room to get dressed for the day while he did the same. It calmed him down somewhat to go through the familiar motions of putting on a suit. He had selected one of the finest in his wardrobe so that, even if he felt frazzled, he would at least look professional.

It only took him a short time in the bathroom to run through the last touches, slicking his hair into its usual style and dabbing on a hint of cologne. Then he headed out into the main part of the apartment where Violet was had already gotten her breakfast together. He was in such a rush to get all of his work things together that he let her have a second bowl of the sugary slop she called cereal.

It was, of course, just as everything had begun to settle down again that fate decided to throw him another curve ball.

He was just starting to wonder where the babysitter was. Alice had been with them long enough to realize how Arthur liked punctuality and always called ahead if there was even the slightest chance she might be late. He let out a small sigh of relief as the phone rang, displaying a familiar number on the caller ID. He snatched the phone from its cradle, lifting it to his ear while he pressed the button to answer the call. "What is it this time, Alice? Is the traffic bad again?"

The words he got in response came out like a croak. "Mr. Moss, I'm really sorry, but—"

Arthur reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, cutting her off as he guessed what had happened. "You're sick, aren't you?"

"I _really_ am sorry," Alice said. "I would still try to come in but the doctor said that I have the flu and I don't want to risk giving that to Violet."

It wasn't as if Arthur would have demanded for her to come when it sounded like she was dying over the phone, but the chance that Violet might catch it too was enough to affirm that decision. "It's fine, Alice, I'm not upset," He said. "You should be taking it easy right now, anyway. But is there anyone you could suggest as a backup?"

Alice wasn't able to answer right away since one of her sniffs had turned into a bout of coughs. She was eventually able to wheeze out an answer, however. "There's always Patrick?"

Arthur didn't groan into the phone, but it was a close thing. He had only employed Patrick once, back when Alice had had to attend a family wedding. She had sworn that he was suitable, but Violet had responded to him in the reverse of how she did with her original babysitter. She was a quiet girl by nature, preferring solitary activities to more active ones, but if she liked someone then she would almost always invite them to share in whatever she was doing. It was when she would pursue her interests alone, only talking to the other person out of necessity, that it was a problem.

"I'll think about it," He said. Although he had a feeling that they both knew that he probably wouldn't.

"Okay," Alice snuffled. "I'm sorry for messing everything up, but I'll try to find a way to make up for it. Maybe I could babysit sometime for free or—"

Arthur cut gently across her babbling. "Alice, it's fine. I'm not going to blame you for getting sick. Just go back to sleep for now and we'll talk about this once you're better."

Alice was already starting to sound drowsy as she replied. "Okay, Mr. Moss, thank you." The other line went dead soon after.

Arthur hung up his own phone before dialing in a number he had memorized ages ago. He spoke the instant the call was answered, no even waiting for a greeting from the other end. "Mal, I'm having a crisis."

The female half of his two best friends and bosses didn't miss a beat as she replied to him in her soft, French accented voice. "Well, we imagined something must have happened once we arrived to find that you weren't you weren't already here. You do like to be first to such appointments, after all."

Arthur grimaced as he ran a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to oversleep. It's just that Violet had a nightmare last night that took her awhile to calm down from. And now the babysitter has canceled on me since she has the flu." He knew that she would be able to understand his prattling since she had two children of her own.

And, sure enough, there came a sympathetic tuting noise. "Do you not have any backup?"

"Not anyone who would be suitable," Arthur replied.

"Then can I suggest someone?" Mal asked. She knew him well enough to take his silence as an assent. "There's a man that Dom met who looks after James and Philippa for us. He is a lovely man and excellent with children. Not to mention, he lives right in your area. Shall I call him for you?"

Arthur was a little wary of leaving his daughter with someone he hadn't been able to do a proper inspection of, but it wasn't as if he had much of a choice by this point. Besides, he trusted Mal's judgment. "That would be great, thanks."

"You're welcome, my dear," Mal said. "And I will make sure to tell him to hurry."

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><p>Arthur practically dove at the door once he heard someone knock on it. He couldn't help being impressed by how fast the person had managed to get there.<p>

Any such positive thoughts disappeared, however, the moment he opened the door.

The man on the other side of the door was the exact opposite of what he had been expecting. He was too distracted by the garish yellow shirt, at first, since its color seemed to want to burn itself into his eyes to take in much else. Then he began to notice the way the fabric was stretched across so rather substantial muscles and…were those _tattoos _peaking out from underneath the short sleeves?

Fortunately, the man seemed to take no notice of how flabbergasted Arthur was by his appearance. His mouth—God, those lips looked like they belonged on a _girl_—spread into a wide smile as he held out his hand. "Hey there, I'm Eames. Mal said that you were expecting me."

Arthur knew that he should say something or, at the very least, take the hand offered to him. The words on the tip of his tongue, however, were something to effect of, "You look like some sort of _thug_," and he wasn't about to let himself be that impolite, even if it was true. He felt his stomach twist somewhat in embarrassment as Eames' smile faltered, but he still couldn't think of anything proper to say.

Then a small hand darted up to grab onto the hand that Eames was still holding out.

Both men looked down to see Violet there, staring back at them with a polite smile. "Good morning, Mr. Eames. My dad isn't trying to be rude, it's just been a busy morning so he's a little bit flustered."

Arthur shook his head, unable to fight off a small smile of his own. He somehow always managed to forget how well his daughter was able to understand him. "I'm sorry, she's right," He said. "I didn't mean to be impolite, but things have been a little crazy around here."

Eames just chuckled good-naturedly in response. "No worries, I gathered as much from Mal. Although neither of you have to use the 'Mr'; Eames will do just fine." He squeezed the hand in his grasp then waved it around in the air, grinning as it made Violet giggle. "Now, is there anything I should know about this little one? Allergies or anything?"

"Well, for starters, her name is Violet," Arthur said. "She doesn't have any major food allergies just don't let her have too much in the way of milk products. And she didn't sleep so well last night so she might have to take a nap." He shot an amused glance at Violet, tapping her nose as she wrinkled it up. "I know you're a big girl now but that doesn't mean you don't need some rest."

"Okay, Dad." She lifted her free arm up into the air with a hopeful expression on her face. "Can I have a hug?"

Arthur felt something warm settle in his chest just like every time his daughter managed to be so sweet without meaning to. He dipped down to wrap his arms around her, squeezing her tightly. "You don't have to ask for something like that, sweetheart." He pressed a kiss to her forehead as he pulled away. "Now be good for Mr. Eames, alright?"

Violet pushed herself up onto the tips of her toes so that she could press a kiss to his cheek. "Everything will be fine, Dad. Now go have a great day at work and say hi to everyone for me."

"Of course," Arthur promised. "I love you."

"Love you too!" Violet beamed back. Then she began to tug Eames into the apartment by the hand as her father slipped out it. The last thing that could be heard, as the door closed, was her asking what movie he wanted to watch.

It sounded like they were off to a good start at least. Arthur just hoped that it would stay that way while he was at work.

* * *

><p>Despite the hectic start to the day, the rest of it ran smoothly. He was greeted with the news on his arrival that Saito was in fact running late, which gave him the time to prepare that he thought he had lost. Ariadne, bless her, had brought coffee for anyone as well. He had would admit to having some reservations after Dom brought her into the firm fresh out of college. She had been a favorite of Miles, however, who was Mal's father along with being a brilliant architect, and he was starting to see just why that was. Besides, anyone who was able to remember just how he liked his coffee in the morning received his approval.<p>

When Saito did arrive, he approved of each design plan that he was shown. There were only a few changes that he wished to make, none of which were that difficult. Besides, the man proved to be open to suggestions if any of his ideas would be too hard to pull off. And for Arthur, who had worked with high maintenance clients in the past, this was something to be grateful about.

The work wasn't over after Saito left, however, since it was time to get a head start on the final drafts of the blueprints. Arthur was sketching in the details on one for the first floor when he sensed that he was being watched. He lifted his head up to see that it was Mal, who offered him a smile as his eyes landed on her. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to know what you thought of Mr. Eames," Mal said.

"Oh, is that who you sent over?" Dom cast a grin over at his friend. "He doesn't look like your average babysitter, does he?"

Arthur pressed his lips together into a firm line. "I guess that's one way of putting it," He said.

"Really, Arthur!" Mal exclaimed. "I thought you would know better than to judge a book by its cover."

"You didn't see the shirt he was wearing, Mal," Arthur said. "Anything that color should be outlawed under risk of causing permanent blindness."

Ariadne looked up from her own work with her bottom lip thrust out in a mock pout. "Aw, did it offend your tender fashion sensibilities?"

Arthur shot her a look, although he was pretty sure it was more amused then sharp. "Yours would have been offended too," He told her.

Mal waved her hand around in a dismissive gesture. "That is enough about his fashion sense." An almost wicked smile settled onto her lips. "What did you think of his looks? He is rather handsome, is he not?"

Arthur let out a groan at this, burying his face in his hands. "Mal, please tell me you aren't trying to set me up with the _babysitter_."

Mal, rather predictably, didn't bother to answer the question. "He is actually an artist," She said instead. "He only babysits to make a little cash while he's between commissions."

"Ooh, really?" Ariadne said. She nudged Arthur with her foot under the table. "You should ask to see his work sometime!"

Arthur held his hands up in the air while shaking his head. "That's it," He announced, "I am going back to work. You have all become too ridiculous to communicate with anymore." He could already see the mischievous look that Mal was exchanging with Ariadne and even Dom was pressing a hand to his mouth so he wouldn't laugh.

He could understand why Mal was trying to encourage him towards Eames, though, even if it was a little annoying. It had been a good amount of time since he had had anything beyond one night stands. He was bisexual, which meant it was a little easier for him to find someone who he would want to get to know better. However, he still had yet to meet someone who didn't tense up at the mention of his daughter. It varied from the people who considered a child to be too much of a commitment to make right away to those who just wanted him and not his daughter. He had no patience for either reaction and tended to cut ties with any such person before they could do it to him.

He would always be a father first, which meant that anyone who wanted to date him would have to accept Violet as well as himself. He wouldn't settle for anything less.

* * *

><p>Arthur fidgeted his way through the entire elevator ride up to the top floor where his apartment was. He was as eager as ever to get back to his daughter, but he was especially anxious today. He had let his work distract him from thinking too much about how Violet was doing with Eames. There was nothing to divert him from it know, however, and it was impossible for him not to worry.<p>

He strode out of the elevator the instant the doors slid apart wide enough. It didn't take him long to reach the apartment, twisting the doorknob so that he could open the door.

His brow furrowed once he was inside, however, as a scent wafted over to him. It was a familiar, sweet smell, although he wasn't able to completely guess what it was. He nudged the door shut with his shoulder as he toed off his shoes next to the mass of much smaller ones to the right of the rug. Then he headed off towards where the aroma was coming from.

He had just begun to approach the kitchen when something solid collided with his legs. He swayed on his feet for a moment, bracing his hand against the wall to steady himself before reaching down to ruffle the hair of the little person wrapped around him. "It's nice to see you too, Violet."

"Dad, you have to see what we made!" Violet exclaimed. She grabbed hold of his hand so that she could lead him into the kitchen.

Arthur let himself be directed without any fuss. However, his eyebrows lifted up in surprise once they reached their destination.

Eames was wearing the apron that had been given to Arthur by his mother one Christmas, although he barely used it. He must have put it on while making the chocolate chip cookies that he was currently taking off the pan to put onto one of the larger plates. He cast the other man a grin after noticing his presence. "Welcome home, Mr. Moss. I hope you don't mind that we made these."

"Not at all," Arthur said. "Our sweet supply needed to be replenished anyway." His daughter had developed quite the sweet tooth as she grew older, gaining the ability to devour anything that fell into that category if he wasn't careful to monitor her. He tended to blame the genetics that she received from her mother for that. "You don't have to call me, Mr. Moss, though. Arthur will be just fine." He had let Alice call him that since she was still a college student, but Eames was his own age, perhaps a little older, so the title just seemed strange coming from him.

"Only if you just call me Eames," Eames replied.

"Is that your first name then?" Arthur asked.

"If you would like it to be," Eames said wryly.

Violet spoke up before Arthur could, beaming up at her father. "Dad, he let me help make cookies. We have to keep him."

Eames just tossed back his head with a laugh. "I'm glad I managed to pass the test," He said.

Arthur felt something in him unwind at the way Violet giggled along with Eames. If she was able to be this relaxed with her babysitter instead of clinging onto his legs without saying a word then something must have gone well. He glanced down at his daughter with a small smile of his own. "Violet, why don't you go have some cookies while I discuss things with, Eames?"

Violet nodded before heading over to the counter where the cookies were located. She was about to scurry up onto one of the stools that were there when Eames lifted her up, placing her down on it. "Don't eat too many," He said, "or you'll spoil your dinner." Then he headed over to Arthur. "Now, what is it that you wanted to discuss?"

"Well, first, I wanted to give you this." Arthur reached into his pocket to pull out the check that he had filled out earlier. "I gave you the amount that I usually give my regular babysitter. I hope that's alright."

Eames plucked the check from his hand, slipping it into his own pocket. "I'm sure it will be fine. I really didn't mind filling in for your regular. Violet has to be one of the easiest kids I've looked after. She fell asleep on the couch somewhere in the middle of the movie she choose so her sleep schedule should be back to normal by now."

"That's good," Arthur said. He wasn't surprised that Violet hadn't caused any problems. She wasn't the type to wreak havoc unless someone actually deserved it. He scratched at the back of his neck as he tried to form the words for what he wanted to say next. "Actually, my regular has the flu, so she probably won't be able to come back for awhile. So, it would be really helpful if you could—"

"Cover for her until she's better?" Eames cut in. "I would love to." He fetched a pen from somewhere in the recess of his pocket then took a napkin to write something down on it. "Here's my number just call me when you want me to come in tomorrow."

Arthur took the napkin from it as the other man undid the apron, hanging it back up where it belonged. "So I'll see you tomorrow then," He said.

"Of course, you will." Eames waggled his fingers in a wave at Violet, who returned the gesture. "But until then, darling, I hope you have a good night with your little one."

The man was already out the door by the time that Arthur was able to register just what he had been called.

"Does this mean we get to keep Eames?" Violet asked.

Arthur huffed out a laugh as he moved forward to join his daughter at the counter. "I guess so," He replied.


	2. Chapter Two

**Oh, good Lord, it's been awhile! The only excuse I can offer up is that my inspiration for this story was totally wrecked for awhile. Hopefully now it will be better.**

**Word Count: **2, 300

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><p>Eames wasn't nervous as he took the elevator up to the Moss' apartment because that would have been <em>ridiculous<em>. It wasn't like he was trying to impress a seven-year-old child, after all. Although, if he were honest with himself, he did want to impress her father.

Mal had called minutes after he got back to his apartment the night before. She had wanted to see how the job had gone and almost sounded surprised by how pleasant Arthur had been.

"It's not that he isn't polite," she had rushed to explain. "He's always that way with just about everyone. But he tends to hold people to his own ridiculously high standards. It makes him take his initial reactions to people as fact, even if he only sees what's on the surface."

Eames felt like he should have expected Arthur to be the type to have exacting standards. The man wore perfectly tailored, designer suits and lived in an apartment that was spotless even with a small child in it, for God's sake.

It made him wonder what Arthur's first impression of him must have been since he knew that he hadn't been in the best of shape at the time. Mal _had_ told him to hurry, though. It wasn't like he had had the time to get dressed to perfection. And, besides, the clothes had been _comfortable_.

It wasn't like he had let it influence how he was dressed today. Nope, not in the slightest.

He let out a groan after he realized that he was fidgeting self-consciously with the sleeves of his coat. It wasn't a good sign when you couldn't even convince yourself of something.

He stepped out of the elevator once the doors slid open with a ding, heading to the door at the end of the hall.

He supposed that he might as well face the facts. There was no way to deny that Arthur was handsome. Really, someone would have to be _blind_ not to see it. And, no matter how bristly the man might be, there was a softer side underneath it all to be sure. That much had been obvious with how attentive he was with his daughter.

It all only served to attract Eames, making him want to learn more about Arthur. But that was a bad path to travel; he knew that from experience. Relationships with employees never turned out well, especially when there were kids involved, and the last thing he wanted was to harm Violet in anyway.

Besides, there was no way of telling whether or not Arthur would even be interested. He had a child, after all, and something like that certainly didn't come from a relationship with a man. But Arthur hadn't been wearing a wedding ring, so maybe the wife, if there ever was one, was out of the picture?

Eames ran a hand across his face. It was no use wondering about such things. Arthur was his employer and that was it. Nothing more. It couldn't be anything else.

When he reached the apartment he took a deep breath, steadying himself, before he knocked. All it took was a single rap of his knuckles for the door to open to reveal Arthur, who was already all dressed up.

"Eames," he said. His lips spread into a small, almost unconscious smile. "You're here early."

"Ah, yes." Eames coughed firmly into his fist to clear his throat. "You seemed the type that would appreciate punctuality." Something warm rushed through him at the approval in Arthur's dark eyes.

"You guessed right," Arthur said. He stepped over to the right so that he was out of the doorway. "You should probably come in now. Violet has been asking me when you would be here since she woke up."

"I hope you aren't jealous, darling," Eames said. He didn't realize that he had used the pet name until after he had crossed the threshold. It had just rolled right off his tongue. With any luck, Arthur would just put it down to him being British.

In any case, the man seemed to be taking it in stride, chuckling lightly as he closed the door. "You don't have to worry about that. I know I'm still her favorite."

Eames let out a laugh of his own as he undid the buttons on his jacket before shrugging it off. "Oh, I don't doubt that, but I can still…" He trailed off as he turned around, folding his jacket over his arm, to find Arthur staring at him with raised eyebrows. "Everything alright?"

The words seemed to snap Arthur out of some sort of daze, causing him to shake his head firmly. "Yes, I'm fine. It's just you look…" His eyes trailed across Eames' body, completely unaware of how he was making the man's skin tingle just by doing so. "Different," he settled on eventually.

Eames looked down at the light blue button up he was wearing tucked into one of his better pairs of jeans. It wasn't something he had worn in awhile and he could feel the fabric stretching slightly over his shoulders. "Noticed that, did you?" he said. "I thought I might as well look professional."

This won another small smile from Arthur. "You've already gotten the job, Eames," he said. "You don't have to try to win me over."

Eames didn't know what to say to that since he _had_ been trying to impress Arthur, even if it was mostly done unconsciously.

He was spared from having to answer, however, as a small, solid form collided with his legs.

"Mr. Eames!"

Eames found himself smiling before he even realized it. He reached down to ruffle Violet's hair. "How many times do I have to tell you, love? Its just Eames."

"I was being polite," Violet said. "That's important."

There was no doubt in Eames' mind as to just who had taught her that. "That's true," he said, "but we're friends now so there's no need to be formal."

Other children her age might have struggled with such vocabulary, but Violet only beamed at him. "We're friends?" She let out a small squeal when Eames nodded. She turned towards her father, practically bouncing up and down in excitement. "Dad, I have a new friend!"

Arthur was smiling down at his daughter, not the small kind that he had given Eames, but a real, full blown one. Eames couldn't stop himself from staring in awe at the man's dimples. Well, those were unexpected. And pretty adorable.

"Yes, sweetheart," Arthur said. "I heard." He bent down to tap his daughter on the nose. "now why don't you tell Eames about your plans for the day?"

"Plans?" Eames said.

Violet nodded. "I got my new art set from Mom in the mail today," she said, "and you're an artist so I thought you'd like to use it with me."

Arthur looked sheepish when Eames glanced over at him. "Mal told me what your real profession was," he explained, "so I told Violet once she got her set. I hope that's alright."

"Of course it is," Eames said. "Although I do have to warn you that I'm still trying to become a professional, so my work won't be perfect."

Violet puffed out her cheeks like someone had done her a personal offense. "I'm sure anything you do will turn out great." The conviction in her voice showed that she wouldn't let anyone convince her otherwise.

"And so will yours," Arthur said. "Now why don't you put away your dishes and get set up?"

"Hugs come first," Violet reminded him.

Arthur responded by scooping her up into his arms, placing kisses on her face until she giggled and squirmed. "I love you," he told her. Then he placed her gently back down on her feet. "Now go have fun with Eames, okay?"

Violet nodded before leaning up to press a kiss to Arthur's cheek. "I love you too and have a good day at work!" Then she was scampering off in the direction of the kitchen.

Arthur straightened up, brushing imaginary dust off his knees. When his eyes met Eames' they were oddly solemn. "I'm sure you have questions."

"About what?" Eames asked. The man's heavy tone had made it clear that he wasn't talking about Violet.

Arthur sighed, running a hand across his face. "Sorry," he said, "I'm kind of rusty with this." His face was a little less serious now. "I just thought that you must be wondering about Violet's mother."

"Well, yes." There was no point in denying that now. "If she's sending Violet gifts in the mail than she must be pretty far off, right?"

Arthur hummed out a sound of assent. "She's been wandering through Italy right now and from the looks of the postage on the package she sent she's in Venice at the moment." A hint of amusement entered his expression a how puzzled Eames still looked. "She's a writer," he clarified, "of just about everything, really. She's trying to be a travel writer, right now."

"What's her name?" Eames asked. "Maybe I've heard of her."

"You probably have," Arthur replied. "She's Isabel Derieux."

Eames felt like didn't have any control over his mouth falling open. "_Her_?" she spluttered. "I can't believe it! I have a ton of her books."

Arthur was grinning, his dimples appearing once again. "That's the same reaction everyone has," he said.

Eames thought about the photographs of Isabel Derieux that he had seen on the inside flaps of book jackets. Violet clearly hadn't inherited her coppery toned hair, but her sharp green eyes were a dead ringer for her mother's in both shape and color.

"I suppose being in a relationship with her stops you from getting as star struck as the rest of us," Eames said.

That made Arthur pause. "Um, actually…" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Isabel and I aren't together. Not since she was back in grad school when she hadn't even thought of becoming a writer."

"So you're—"

"Single, yes," Arthur cut in. "I have been for quite some time now."

"Can't find the right woman?" Eames offered.

Arthur snorted in response. "Or man." His mouth snapped shut as he realized what he had said, eyes growing wide.

Eames just stood there, not knowing what to do. He was terrified that if he opened his mouth he would wind up sticking his foot right in it. One of the reasons he had placed on his mental list for not getting involved with Arthur had just been struck away and he had no idea how to react.

When he realized that he really should say _something_ it was already too late. Arthur was pulling on his jacket with sharp, jerky movements. "I have to get to work," he said. "They'll worry about me if I'm late."

"Look, Arthur—"

"I'll be back around the usual time," Arthur said. His arm snapped out to grab his bag and then he was gone, door slamming shut behind him.

* * *

><p>By the time Eames stumbled into the main part of the apartment, the art supplies were already spread out across the kitchen table. He looked around for Violet and found her in the living room, fiddling with the stereo system. "What are you doing, pet?" he asked.<p>

"Putting on music," Violet replied. "Dad always says it helps the creative flow."

"Your father is a wise man," Eames said. He could recall more than a few times that music had helped work through an artistic block. "Can I ask what you have selected for us?"

Violet twisted the volume dial up until the soft, soulful voice of a woman singing in French filled the room.

Eames raised his eyebrows, feeling surprised yet impressed by the selection. "Édith Piaf?"

"I really like her," Violet said. "Aunt Mal knows all the songs by heart and she and Uncle Dom gave them to me when I was little."

Eames decided not to comment on the fact that, at seven years old, Violet still was little. He could remember these songs being among the ones he had heard Mal sing to her children to lull them to sleep. He wondered if she had done the same for Violet before. "She's a talented woman," he said.

"Very talented," Violet agreed. Then she let out a small giggle. "Dad doesn't listen to her too often, though. He says it makes him flashback to when Uncle Dom insisted on serenading Aunt Mal with them outside of her dorm room."

Eames didn't even try to contain his laughter at that. He was filing that away for blackmail or at least for teasing material to be used at a later date. He waited until his humor had subsided to try speaking again. "So, now that we have our mood music, should we get to work?"

Violet bobbed her head in a quick gesture of assent. "Dad promised that he would take my best piece to work." Her eyes brightened as they darted up to Eames. "Yours will probably be so good that Dad will want to take all of them!"

Eames snuck his teeth into his bottom lip as he remembered Arthur's pinched expression as he left. The man was more likely to try to distance himself from Eames from now on. He would have to find a way to clear the air between the two of them so things wouldn't become too awkward.

He came back into himself as he realized that Violet's gaze was starting to turn worried and she didn't need to feel that way when it came to him. He scooped her up under one arm, laughing as she let out a delighted shriek. "Onwards then, my dear!"

And off they went with Violet giggling all the way.


	3. Chapter Three

**Word Count: **2,329

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><p>Arthur was finding it difficult to focus on his work. Ariadne had dropped off one of her final blueprints for him to go over at least an hour ago and he had barely made any notes, Although, to be perfectly honest, there wasn't really much for him to mark up. He was starting to see why Dom had had no qualms about hiring her fresh out of college. Her plans showed more ingenuity than people who had been at their jobs for twice as long.<p>

He wanted to give her work the attention it deserved, but his mind kept pushing forward the exact thing he _didn't_ want to think about, distracting him from all else.

He gave into the thoughts with a groan, rubbing his hands across his face. He might have felt better if Eames had said something, even if it had been negative. Then he would at least know how he should react. But instead Eames had just stood there with a blank, unreadable expression on his face. The other man had tried to say something before he left, but Arthur had been too wound up to stop and listen to him.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the approaching footsteps and reacted with a start when he was tapped on the head. He looked up to find Mal standing on the other side of his desk, holding a rolled up blueprint that she must have used to rap him with.

"What has become of your instincts, dear Arthur? Normally you can sense me coming the minute I'm out of my chair." The amusement in her eyes shifted into a faint concern. "Are you alright? You've been lost in your thoughts all morning."

"It's nothing," Arthur said. "I guess I'm just more groggy than usual." This earned him another swat on the head with the blueprint, harder than the one that had come before.

"Don't lie to me," Mal scolded. "I've known you since you were a baby faced boy with limbs too long for his body, who sketched out immaculate designs on pieces of paper pinned onto his dorm wall. We should be past this by now."

Arthur had to admit she was right. He just didn't know how to put his emotions into words. They were all too turbulent to be examined properly. "It's Eames," he said.

The corners of Mal's mouth twisted down into a frown. "You can't have found fault with him already," she said. "He had nothing but good things to say about you when I called him last night."

Arthur wasn't surprised that Mal had called Eames. The man was just the type of person she tended to become fond of, similar to herself but not enough to be predictable. That only made this that much harder. He took a deep breath. "Eames found out about my sexuality."

"Ah." And just like that all of the previous hardness in Mal's expression melted away. "And how did he react?"

"He just stood there," Arthur said. "I couldn't even read his expression. He was about to say something before I left, but I cut him off because I was too afraid to hear what he might say."

Mal was one of the few people he would admit such a fear to. She had been there to hold him with Dom back in college when someone had covered his door with cruel notes and slurs. She had managed to find out who had done it too, punching the boy in the face right in the dining hall a few days later while shouting at him in French.

So now she just reached out to cover one of his hands, applying a gentle pressure. She kept her voice pitched low so that only he would be able to hear her words. "I cannot claim to know Mr. Eames very well yet, but I have never seen anything to suggest that he isn't a very open minded man. Just take him aside for a talk after you get home. You can't know how he feels about what happened until you ask him." She patted his hand with a small, warm smile. "All will be well, my sweet." Then she was heading back to own desk, shaking her head in response to Dom's questioning gaze. She would no doubt tell him what was going on once they were out of the office, not that Arthur minded.

For now he just turned back to Ariadne's blueprints, wishing that he could be as confident as Mal was.

* * *

><p>Arthur refused to be nervous as he headed down the hallway. It was <em>his <em>home he was returning to, after all. The only difference was that Violet wasn't the only person waiting for him inside.

And that was enough to trip him up again, making his hand hesitate near the door. But then he gritted his teeth, grabbing the doorknob and pushing the door open with a sharp twist.

It took him a few moments once he was inside to recognize the faint strains of Édith Piaf. It was enough to bring a slight smile to his face as he toed off his shoes. He took a deep breath, knowing Violet would get worried if he took too long, and headed into the kitchen.

He half expected to hear the sounds of conversation as he drew closer, yet the only thing that grew clearer was the music. And once he actually got into the kitchen he could see why.

Both the people sitting at the kitchen table were completely engrossed in their work.

The tip of Violet's tongue was pressed against the side of her top lip, an unconscious habit she fell into whenever she was focusing hard. Her already finished artwork was placed in a neat stack in front of her while she worked on her current piece. It seemed like she was trying to recreate one of the images of Venice she had seen in the book Isabel had sent along as well.

Eames was as focused on his work as Violet, his brow furrowed downwards in a determined fashion. But since he was sitting on the other side of the table, Arthur couldn't really tell what he was creating.

He hesitated for a moment, wary of breaking the trance the two seemed to be in, before taking a few steps into the kitchen. That way he could see what Eames was working on and it was…

It was _incredible_.

The ocean that covered the majority of the page wasn't one single color, but a mixture of light blues and almost glassy greens. There were even parts of it that seemed to reflect off the sun drawn high up in the sky.

The most incredible part of all, however, were the waves. Arthur had never really understood how any drawing, no matter how good, could seem real, yet these waves seemed like they could leap right off the page.

It wasn't a surprise that Eames' main profession was being an artist. Arthur just didn't understand why he didn't get more commissions.

He was so lost in staring at the drawing that he didn't realize he was being stared back at until he felt a prickling sensation along the back of his neck. He knew who it had to be even before he shifted his gaze to find that Eames was staring up at him.

Arthur tried to read the man's expression, but it was as blank as it had been that morning. Except that, no, that wasn't really true since there was a definite glimmer of _something_ in Eames' eyes. Arthur just didn't know what it was. It almost seemed like worry, but that couldn't be right because what the hell did Eames have to be worried about?

"Dad!"

Arthur jerked his head away from Eames at the sound of that familiar voice, bending down in time to catch Violet in his arms when she all but launched herself at him for a hug. He was grateful for the distraction, even if he could still feel Eames' eyes on him.

"Hey there, Vi," he said. "Did you have a good day?"

Violet pulled away just enough to nod vigorously. "We drew for the whole day," she informed him, "so we have loads of pieces to show you." She leaned in close, voice pitched low, as though to share an important secret. "Eames drew all of the best ones, though. He's really, really good."

Eames' voice made both of them start. "Now, now, love, didn't I tell you that your work was wonderful too?"

Violet popped her head up from behind Arthur's shoulder. "You weren't suppose to be listening!" she scolded. But her cheeks were flushed a bright shade of red that only served to make her look adorable.

Arthur could tell by the sound of Eames' voice that the man was having to fight back a smile. "Sorry, I'll make sure to behave next time."

Arthur shook his head, unable to keep from smiling himself, even if it was just a little. Then he patted Violet on the back to get her attention. "Hey, sweetheart, can you go do your own thing for a little bit?"

"Do you need to speak to Eames alone then?" Violet asked.

"Yeah," Arthur said, "just about some grownup stuff."

"Okay," Violet said. She wiggled her way out of her grasp and over to Eames, who was already leaning down so that she could kiss him on the cheek. "Bye, Eames." She rocked back and forth on her feet. "Will you really bring your sketchbook tomorrow?"

"If you really want me to, love," Eames replied. He chuckled as his words were met with an immediate, "Yes, please!" "Alright then, sketchbook it is. Now off you go."

Violet nodded before racing off in the direction of her bedroom with a huge grin on her face.

Arthur waited until she was out of sight to stand back up again. He made a show of brushing off his pants, but it was just to delay having to look at Eames again. By the time he let his eyes drift over to the man it was to find that Eames was already staring at him again.

"Alright, I…well…" Arthur cleared his throat, refusing to let himself falter when it came to something like this. "Look, Eames, about this morning—"

"Isn't going to be a problem," Eames cut in. He shook his head when Arthur's brow furrowed. "I didn't mean to react so poorly to it this morning. You just caught me off guard, you know?"

"I'm sure." There was a part of Arthur—alright, most of him, actually—that couldn't believe this was so easy. "Are you really alright with it, though? Not uncomfortable at all?"

Eames sighed, spreading out his hands to Arthur. "Look, Arthur… There's no other way to say it." He rolled his shoulders into a shrug. "There is no way that two guys being together is ever going to make uncomfortable."

It took Arthur a ridiculously long time to understand what he meant. "Oh!" He cleared his throat, trying to come up with something more proper to say. "So you're…"

"Gay, yeah," Eames replied. "And by the sounds of it you're—"

"Bisexual," Arthur said. "Um, yeah, that would be right." He leaned back against the counter with a groan, rubbing a hand over his face. "Jesus Christ, I was stressing out over _nothing_ all day."

"Hey, don't be too hard on yourself," Eames said. "I was too."

Arthur lowered his hand to arch a brow at him. "What were you stressing out over?" he asked.

Eames looked oddly sheepish at the question. "Ah, well, I just didn't want to make things awkward between us. I really do like working here, after all."

"And Violet already adores you," Arthur said. He was relieved that he wouldn't have to give her the speech of why exactly her new "friend" could no longer come see her.

"Which I am infinitely thankful for," Eames grinned. He sobered just a bit after that, dragging his teeth across his bottom lip, which really drew too much of Arthur's attention to his mouth. So much of it in fact that Arthur almost missed the question aimed his way. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Arthur asked.

"Ah, well…" Eames scratched at the back of his head. "Do you like me too?"

"Yeah, I…I do." And Arthur was surprised by just how much he meant it.

Eames seemed a little taken aback by the words as well, but he covered it quickly with a smile. "Well that's good to hear." He pushed up from his chair. "Now I really should be…"

"Oh, right!" Arthur said. He scrambled in his pocket before pulling out a check for Eames. "Here you go."

Eames reached out to pluck the check from his hand. "Thank you, darling," he said. "I'll see you bright and early tomorrow then."

Arthur nodded, until he realized what was still on the table. "Wait, Eames! You're drawings are still here."

Eames paused near the door, tipping his head to the side. "You can keep them if you want," he said. "They're just some sketches, really."

If these drawings were only sketches to Eames then Arthur wondered what his completed work must look like. "Alright then," he said, "but don't complain if they're surrendered over to Violet."

"You mean none of them are good enough to be brought to work?" Eames pressed a hand to his chest, face twisted in mock hurt. "You wound me, Arthur!"

Arthur was definitely _not_ blushing. "I still have to look through them," he said. "One of them could always wind up at work."

Eames flashed him a grin. "There's a love," he said. "Have a good night!" And with a quick wave he was gone.

Arthur wondered if there would ever be a time when Eames wouldn't leave him speechless.


End file.
